Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince Redux
by Zone-Blitz
Summary: Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter talk in the headmaster's office after the events at the Ministry of Magic and comes to their senses about Harry's life, and the war that is at their doorstep. Harry is going to be trained, and he's going to grow into the leader the wizarding world needs in a war against Voldemort. He might even find love (or at least teenage lust) along the way.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Author's note: I hated the 6th and 7th book in the series. This is my scatter brained attempt at fixing it. Pretty straight forward chapter. Italics is Rowling's writing, regular font is mine. If this chapter isn't a snoozefest, I'll consider it an accomplishment. Harry's going to be a bit of OOC, because I thought the lack of character development before and after Sirius' death was terrible story telling.

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Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince Redux

Chapter 1: A Meeting of Equals

_Harry closed his eyes. If he had not gone to save Sirius, Sirius would not have died. . . . More to stave off the moment when he would have to think of Sirius again, Hary asked, without caring much about the answer, "The end of the prophecy . . . it was something about . . . 'neither can live . . .,"_

"'_. . . while the other survives,'" said Dumbeldore._

"_So," said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, "so does that mean that . . . that one of us has got to kill the other one . . . in the end?"_

"_Yes," said Dumbeldore._

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Dumbeldore was lost in self-reflection, pondering how his actions had led he and Harry to the positions that they were in. His mistakes were obvious and numerous, and that he had foreseen them all made him physically ill. Not even the knowledge that his missteps were made with kind intentions was enough to assuage the churning of guilt in his stomach. His eyes remained rooted to his old mahogany desk, because he could not bear to look up at the strung-out teenager in front of him. The raw pain that Harry was feeling, Dumbeldore could feel through his pupil and it hurt him down to the very essence of his being to have contributed in any way to Harry's pain.

Harry was overwhelmed. He wanted to cry, but he was too emotionally confused to cry. There were too many things flying around in his head for such a simple expression of grief. He was sad of course, but so sad that there was no way for him to adequately express the emotion. Without any way to deal with his feelings, the sadness and grief were shoved down to be dealt with later. There was still the anger at Dumbeldore but it no longer burned so hotly that Harry couldn't control his body from lashing out violently. The only other emotion was fear, and it was almost a welcome companion for Harry, because he could deal with fear. Fear was death reaching out to him, and he'd learned long ago the importance of remaining calm when he was scared. It was this sense of calm that he reached down into and addressed the headmaster.

"Things need to change," Harry announced, not forcefully, but as an acknowledgement of an unfortunate truth that they both knew to be true and could no longer afford to ignore.

Albus looked up at his student and evaluated him, trying to master control of his emotions with the same mastery that his fifteen year old student had. "I'm aware of this Harry," Dumbeldore conceded, "though I believe that this is not the appropriate time to discuss this. We will talk again when we are both feeling more ourselves and we have processed tonight's events."

Dumbeldore wasn't prepared for Harry's reaction to what had been a dismissal, "No, we'll talk now. You just got done saying how you regret treating me like a child and then you try and send me away. That's bullshit. We are at war, we need a plan in place and we don't have time to waste."

The headmaster opened his mouth to say something wise, and calm, and grandfatherly to appease Harry, but he stopped when he made eye contact with his student. Such a comment would only infuriate the young man more, and further damage a severely strained relationship. He needed to stop thinking of Harry as a child, and begin to think of him as a soldier, if the mistakes of the past were not to be repeated. "What would you like to discuss Harry?"

Harry was caught off guard, by Dumbeldore's willingness to provide him with information. He had just assumed that Dumbeldore would attempt to placate him with platitudes and then send him away, still keeping him firmly in the dark. There were so many things that Harry wanted to know that he didn't know where to start. He took a moment to organize his thoughts before he started with the question that would most directly affect his life in the short term. "What am I doing this summer?"

Dumbeldore pushed away from his desk and turned to face the window. It was still dark, and wouldn't be light for a few more hours, even the moon and the stars did little to illuminate what existed outside of the castle. Like Harry, he also gathered his thoughts before he began to speak, "I don't know at the moment Harry. I had planned to send you back to the Dursley's for the summer . . ." Dumbeldore started.

"Fuck that," Harry interrupted, having no intentions to go anywhere near his muggle relatives ever again. "I'm not a child who needs to be protected anymore. We just went through this conversation about not treating me like a child. I'm a fighter now, I need to train. I need to be able to fight like you did, so that when I fight Voldemort I can actually kill him, not mildly amuse him with my pathetic dueling skills," Harry said, the memories of just how badly Voldemort had outclassed him were fresh in his mind and they cut at his pride. The way that Voldemort, and even Dumbeldore, were able to wield such powerful magic with such ease had made it painstakingly obvious to Harry just how wide the gap in magical ability between himself and Voldemort was. That gap needed to be closed if he had any chance of surviving.

"You'll notice that I spoke in the past tense when describing my previous plans for your summer, Harry. While it does not happen often, I have been wrong enough in my quite-long life to know that I have made a mistake and need to chance my plans. Despite my actions on your behalf, I also try to avoid making decisions for someone without their input. So tell me Harry, what do you want to do this summer?" Dumbeldore asked, finally managing to make eye contact with the hurting teenager. He really did have Lilly's eyes, though Lilly's eyes had never reminded him so much of an angry dog whose cage had been rattled a few too many times.

"I want to stay here and train with you or Mad Eye over the summer," Harry said with such confidence that Albus was a bit surprised. Harry had never been particularly defiantly confident about anything, except for maybe quidditch. He wasn't a pushover, but he was always more prone to let something slide than be openly confrontational. Dumbeldore couldn't help but smile to himself, at what he hoped he would be seeing more of in the future. Harry needed to be a leader, and speaking with authority was something that he needed to develop if anyone was ever going to follow him.

"Both Mad Eye and I are busy men Harry, we have extremely important things that we need to do. I can't promise that we'll be able to make training you our first priority," Dumbeldore hedged, testing the new Harry. He wanted to beam when Harry fit him with a glare that would have made lesser men shake in their boots.

"There is nothing going on in this world, that is more important than training me to kill Voldemort. Every day that I'm not ready is another day that kids are orphaned, and the entire world lives in terror. Your FIRST AND ONLY priority, will be training me," Harry hissed furiously, shaking with pent up rage. Maybe it was the feeling of guilt that felt like a spike had been driven through his chest, but knowing that other people would be grieving in the same manner set his blood on fire.

Albus smiled, for the first time in what seemed liked years. There was a space in the back of his mind where the doubts of whether Harry was mentally strong enough to kill Voldemort lived. Seeing Harry's eyes in that moment, assuaged those doubts. Twenty-four hours previously, he suspected that those doubts would have been well founded, but Sirius Black's death had awoken a sleeping giant and filled it with a murderous rage.

"What the fuck are you smiling about?" Harry snarled

"Forgive me Harry. I'm old and my mind wanders at the most inopportune moments. You are of course correct. We will train you to the fullest extent of our ability. Will your friends be joining us?" Dumbeldore asked, schooling his features into a solemn expression that wasn't nearly as much of a mask as he would have liked. Harry's unexpected leap forward in maturity was something to be excited about, but he was also mourning the loss of the innocent eleven year old that had been bewitched by the magic of Hogwarts Castle the first time that he'd seen it.

"No, I don't intend to have time for them. This summer is going to be all business, and I don't think that I could maintain that attitude with them around. Maybe when we get back into the school year, we'll be able to reconnect, but I don't want anything to distract me," Harry explained.

"I understand Harry, and I think you even have made the correct decision. I will just advise you to keep your friends close. You will not be able to kill Voldemort without their help, and the help of the Order. Even Voldemort who is incapable of feeling love, keeps his army near him at all time. Harry Potter the leader, will be just as important as Harry Potter the wizard in the coming war. Keep in mind that everything that you say and do will be available to the public and they will judge you accordingly," Dumbeldore advised, trying to impart some wisdom on his protégé who mercifully seemed to be listening intently.

For the rest of the night, the two men talked, as equals, about everything. They talked for hours about what Voldemort had done, was attempting to do, and was likely going to do. They discussed the Ministry and whether or not it could be relied upon to contribute in any meaningful way beyond the basics of protecting Diagon Alley and other such traffic points of the Wizarding world. They discussed whether or not Cornelius Fudge was deserving of his spot as Minister of Magic or whether or not their credibility should be cashed in to instigate a call for a vote of no confidence, and who the new candidate they would support, were Fudge to end up getting sacked.

The Ministry, even on the surface, was so complex that Harry had a difficult time understanding it. By the time that Dumbeldore had helped him peel back a few layers, keeping track of the inner workings and dealings of the place seemed impossible. Even the Order itself, which Harry had believed he had a pretty firm grasp on, was significantly more complex than he ever could have imagined. It was a productive few hours, by the time that Harry had left the office, content with the progress that he'd made.

Dumbeldore also was happy. He'd taken the first few steps to grooming his replacement, and the guy seemed to be picking it up extremely quickly. He was smart, polite, good looking, and had a quick wit that made others like him and want to follow him. Maybe, just maybe, the wizarding world wasn't as totally fucked as he'd initially thought.

Harry didn't make it to his dormitory. Somewhere around McGonagall's transformation classroom, he collapsed to the floor and began to cry, as all the grief and depression caught up to him. He cried for hours, powerful sobs rocking his body, and making pained noises that would have kept the entire House up, had he been in the dormitory. Eventually, his throat and lungs began to hurt too bad, and he just let tears silently pour down his face as he remembered his godfather and the family that he'd only briefly experienced, before fate cruelly ripped Sirius Black from this life.

He fell asleep just as the sun poked its way over the horizon. He was so exhausted as the adrenaline left his body that he would have fallen asleep in less comfortable positions than sitting up against a concrete wall. He was dog-tired, so exhausted that he didn't even dream about Sirius, just passed into merciful oblivion for what constituted his first hours of peace in months.

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Author's note: Love it, Hate it, Want more? Hit the review button and let me know. I treasure each and every one.


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